Santina's Scandalous Princess(41)

Louise knew that what he was saying was true, even if she didn't want to  admit it. Even if something in the trained, professional part of her  was thinking eagerly of the opportunities for good that must surely come  from being in a position to put in place changes that would ultimately  benefit so many people and help them to understand and reach out for the  gifts of the future, whilst laying to rest the ghosts of the past.  Besides it was her grandparents' wishes she wanted to discuss with him.

‘My grandparents did a great deal for their community. In the early days  they sent money home here, for their parents and their siblings. They  went without to do that. They employed people from the village who came  to London. They housed them and looked after them. They gave generously  to the church and to charity. It is their right to have all that they  were and all that they did recognised and respected.'

She was a passionate advocate for her grandparents, and he couldn't  doubt the strength of her feelings, Caesar acknowledged. A discreet  bleep from his mobile phone warned him of an impending appointment. He  hadn't expected this interview with her to take as long as it had, and  there were still things he needed to say-questions he needed to ask.

‘I have to go. I have an appointment. However, there are things we still  need to discuss,' he told her. ‘I shall be in touch with you.'

He was turning to walk away, having made it clear that he intended to  keep her on edge and anxious. A cruel act from a man who had cruelty and  pride bred into his blood and his bones. Perhaps she shouldn't have  expected anything else. And the relief she felt because he was going?  What did that say about her and her own reserves of strength?                      
      
          



      

He was only a couple of metres away from her when he turned. The sun  slanting through the cypresses caught against the sharp, hard bones of  his face, throwing it into relief so that he looked as if he could  easily have traded places with one of his own fierce warrior  ancestors-that toxic mix of pre-Christian Roman and Moor was stamped  clearly on his features.

‘Your son,' he said. ‘Have you brought him to Sicily with you?'